


Can't Remember to Forget You

by mussings_over_tea



Series: Said Do You Feel It When You Touch Me, Said Do You Feel It When You Cut Me [1]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Character Study, Infidelity, M/M, PWP without Porn, besides that same old same old NO CHILL for nick kyrgios detected, but one does what one can yep and it's been boiling in me, but with, haha also this time some astronomy related metaphors lol, or as some people called it lying manipulating and cheating haha, the riddle remains and the transfer doesn't help, this is a new one for me as in, this is me dealing with stuff even if i've made a huge mistake, with writing this at all I AM A PINE TREE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29614728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mussings_over_tea/pseuds/mussings_over_tea
Summary: Thanasi trying to say no to a storm. Thanasi thinking he has learned how to by now.
Relationships: Nick Kyrgios/Thanasi Kokkinakis
Series: Said Do You Feel It When You Touch Me, Said Do You Feel It When You Cut Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186838
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	Can't Remember to Forget You

Nick is in the mood. Thanasi has seen that before. He’s experienced it before. Many times.

Thanasi thought he’s immune. By now. Developed a shield against this gravitational pull, so strong, when you find yourself within its grasp there is nothing saving you from being devoured.

There’s been separation, the entire world was thrown into. They were too. Talking over the screen, exchanging text messages. It was bound to make him forget all the defense mechanism against Nick.

Warm, brown, mischievous eyes twinkling over the rim of a wine glass. Mouth smirking over the edge of it, as he licks the red and it’s difficult to say whether it’s the alcohol on his lips or the invitation for a taste.

Nick’s stroking Thanasi’s calf unapologetically under the table, with the rest of the lads already tuned out, preoccupied with the ruckus of the club and each other’s company. Maybe recognizing the boundary of them. When they are like this. Wrapped around this orbit Nick extends to catch his victims.

To eat them alive.

“Kokki, you’re so handsome. I’ve missed you so much,” Nick purrs, voice rich with the wine or indication or both. Joined by the touch of Nick’s hand now, on Thanasi’s knee. Stroking higher, desperate to reach for more of him across the table.

It’s like he is with everything. Barges into your space and marks it with his presence. And you’re swept off by this tsunami of sensations that are him. You’re defenseless. You forget what it’s like to be anything else but at his mercy.

“I thought you’ve been working on your red wine tolerance, Kygsy. Meanwhile, you’re plastered, my man,” Thanasi throws out there. Meaningless words masquerading as that frail defense. His body acts already on strings. The feel of Nick’s palm, warm, strong, eager, leaves him breathless with possibilities.

Fuck. It’s been a while. Not in general. But with him.

“I’m high but not on wine. You’re so fucking hot, Kokk,” he accentuates with a swipe of his tongue on a rim and a flash of his white teeth against the glass, fingers now on Thanasi’s knee digging in deeper and higher and more.

“Your lines are getting rusty, babe,” the attempt of him mocking melts on his tongue with a sigh. There are no defenses against Nick, when he’s like this. Hungry. All focus. Insatiable until he _has_.

The gravitational pull of a black hole devouring all within its radius.

Nick’s eyes shine with delirium. But Thanasi saw him wasted and this is not it.

This is Nick taking what he wants and nothing will stop him.

“Wanna reassess my other skills then?”

Thanasi remembers the sound of /no/. He can almost feel its shape on his tongue. But the want radiating off Nick is infectious. Has always been like this. The sole focus he gives you, once in a while, when his whims align, is addicting and wraps you in warm, sensual, silky feeling of a good bourbon flowing inside you, heating you up from within, burning up spots that felt numb and pumping your blood with will of infinity.

Thanasi’s hard anyway so they might as well take this somewhere quiet.

*

It always feels like being drunk when they are physical with Nick.

They’ve been here before. Many times. Thanasi forgot the experience. Or pretends he did. The experience making you spin in a twister of sensations. Too fast. Not enough. Rushing after more, overflowing with too much.

Jesus.

He’s being pushed against the door of his hotel room, by Nick’s greedy hands. The jacket unwrapped from him (it feels like Nick is taking off his skin), impatient touch of Nick’s nails on Thanasi’s abs as he maps his body under the Tshirt, thigh driving in between his legs, to tease him into hardness that’s starting to almost hurt.

Ache for Nick.

That sinful mouth, he hasn’t been able to taste properly, red with wine or red with invitation, or red with both is nibbling on his ear. Warm breath sends shivers on his skin, making him arch like a fucking teenager that hasn’t touched himself for a week. The teeth and the tongue temper with Thanasi’s cross earring as Nick’s hands are busy all over his chest, now unapologetically stroking his cock, too.

He’s being almost suffocated with the attention. Once Nick’s focus sinks its teeth into you it almost hurts, the way you run a marathon, your lungs burst with fire as you gulp on not enough air, the way you try to swim out onto the surface in a deep deep water, but it seems unreachable and your body grows heavy as it’s sinking back down.

“What about your special lady?” his body is treacherous, opening up for more, desperate for more, hands in Nick’s hair pushing, yanking, pulling, hips thrusting to his conduct as he swells for more of him. To have him. To have him again. To never stop. But there’s light of reason, maybe sharpness of moral obligation, keeping his head still focused. Even if the fog is there, filling up the inside of him with pliant capitulation.

With a final bite and a luscious lick Nick pulls Thanasi’s earring out from his ear, keeping it between his teeth proudly now, as he grins, close to Thanasi’s mouth, eyes twinkling teasingly, eyes bare with unappeased hunger.

“What about her? She’s not here and it’s not like it ever stopped us before,” the grin reflects fever, making his eyes look molten gold, as Nick takes the earring out of his mouth, to hide it in the pocket of his jeans and proceed to nuzzle Thanasi’s jawline with intent. Soft, seductive, demanding. All at once. All Nick.

His palm still busy on Thanasi, slowly, inevitably guiding him over the edge of ecstasy.

He’s right.

It never did stop them before. Many times before. When Nick looked at him with hunger and Thanasi never knew how to say no. He’s been always telling himself no one knows how to say no to Nick. It’s like saying no to a hurricane. It’s like denying gravity.

It’s all physics.

It’s all inevitable.

Nick is.

There might be a slight nudge inside him, a flash of pang of conscience, a will of his own not infected with Nick’s delirium but it gets squashed under lava of want enveloping him more and more. To appease the hunger with Nick.

To have him. Again and again. Fuck the consequences. Nothing else matters but this.

“Anyway, what you should be doing with that mouth, Mister Kokkinakis, is kissing me right now, instead of spilling moral crap that don’t matter.”

“If you insist,” so Thanasi dives into molten heat that is Nick’s mouth, that is fever between them that is the only sensation he wants to be feeling. Nick’s body as close to his, with every inch, every angle, every touch.

And so it is. Tongue meets tongue, Thanasi bites his lip too to have him open up more for the kiss. There’s rocking together to the sound of dull thudding against the door. Hands pulling on clothes to reveal skin for the taking, to reduce the distance between them to nonexistent .

To have him. To have him.

“You taste like wine. Same old, same old,” Thanasi rasps to Nick’s neck now, still kissing, still tasting, needing to have that mouth again. And so he does. Pliant, wet, soft, perfect.

“Hmm, it’s all wrong. I should be tasting of you by now, Kokki,” Nick purrs, arching back, letting Thanasi bite and suck on the expanse of his neck. Collarbone. A map of marks guiding him back home. That’s what he wants to do to his body.

“The lines are incredibly corny, man,” he chuckles, sounds muffled, with mouth busy on warm, eager skin, until there’s distance again. Made by Nick. Who’s pulling out for a moment to grab for Thanasi’s tshirt. To unwrap him whole. As if he’s not already whole for the taking.

As if he’s not already Nick’s.

“I wanna see you. I wanna see what you’ve been working on all that time,” Nick sounds perched. Thanasi doesn’t know if it’s for his fitness or for his work ethic, or maybe sacrifices. He thinks he imagines the way Nick voice breaks. In awe or in hurt or both for Thanasi, trapped in his prison of inability and helplessness. It’s not a pity. Pity would have made him lash out. It’s a greedy pride. In Nick’s eyes and in business of his hands now, when the tshirt is gone, adoring him. Now with mouth, too as he glides down to kneel for Thanasi. To properly worship him. Eyes looking up, like he’s pleading or apologizing.

For what? Thanasi wants to ask, reaching for his cheek, stroking rough stubble. Feeling drunk. With attention. With that sole focus Nick is giving him now.

“Your knee, Kygs,” Nick’s body is frail, too. But it never stopped him from soaring the heights everyone expected of them when they were announced as the future of Australia. It never imprisoned him in decaying immobility. The way Nick looks up with plea tells Thanasi that maybe this is the guilt he’s apologizing for. Punishing himself with now, on his bad knee, adoring in pain like it’s shared, like it makes them even.

“Doesn’t matter. I need to taste you. I want you to fuck my mouth, okay?” he doesn’t wait for the answer. There’s urgency in his moves as he opens Thanasi’s zipper, pulls him out and devours the entire length of him at one go. There’s desperation. Like it’s part of that redeeming for sacrifices act.

Jesus.

It’s overwhelming. Thanasi jerks forwards in spasms, fingers clinging into Nick’s skull, for a support, to guide him. But you can’t guide the storm. Nick doesn’t let him. It’s Nick who’s grabbing his hips, forcing him to move, deeper, more. Till he feels the back of Nick’s throat, losing himself in an oblivion of fucking that tight heat as he’s conducted.

It’s being swept off your feet by that pandemonium that is Nick’s attention. There’s nothing else in you, outside you, but him. You’re being modeled to him, reshaped into Nick’s. As if you ceased knowing yourself. As if you never cared for who you are outside it.

That mouth wrapped around him. Him sinking into that hot depth entirely. It’s the eye of the storm and Thanasi’s wheezing out the only name he knows now.

Seeing Nick choke on him, with teary eyes, mouth sloppily drinking him up to last drop does the trick and Thanasi’s coming messily, what fees like he hasn’t come before in his life (with anyone but him) and it does seem like those aware, independent remnants of him becoming marked and consummated by Nick as well.

“Fuck, Jesus. Kygs,” the breath’s coming out short in syllables making up his entire vocabulary. Like he doesn’t know any other words. And maybe he doesn’t.

Nick’s chuckling playfully, sounds strained, nuzzling his hipbone, hands guiding Thanasi through aftershocks (or teasing him to ache more). “Rusty, you said? How about now?” he’s lifting himself up now to offer lips covered in Thanasi for the taking. Thanasi does. Takes, and has, and takes, and has. Like there are withdrawal syndromes in him to tame through tasting his own cum on Nick’s tongue. Over and over again.

“It’s been too long,” he allows himself to say close to his mouth. As if he misses Nick. Misses this. Has been. Maybe he has? Fuck. There are no defenses against the intoxicating wave of memories of them, like that, inseparable and belonging (or consumed, or devoured).

He tasted himself on Nick and yet he no longer feels like himself.

Like it is often with Nick. Like it is always with Nick. And just like many times before he doesn’t think of denying this. To him. To them. To himself.

Not until the aftermath. When lava turns to ash. Always. Inevitably.

“Yeah, it has,” Nick puts distance between again (almost making Thanasi whimper out loud, jesus), just to sway to the bed, with hands pulling on his own shirt and opening up his jeans (Thanasi digs fingers into the surface of the door, envious, wanting to be the one unwrapping Nick, for the taking? For the keeping? Or can he?).

The permission comes. He’s allowed, with words that follow the garments casually scattered on the floor.

“It’s been way too long. So come here, Kokki, and fuck me.”

The storm orders and you can never say no to a storm.

*

Fucking Nick is like being on court with him, in a grand slam match, when he’s locked in, there are stakes, he’s giving himself in, his body covered in sweat, his soul singing in purposes and he puts on the show for the masses, taking them for a ride of heights and lows but always fast, dizzy and intoxicating.

Thanasi breathes erratically, sinking deep into this maddening heat, with Nick on all fours, hands grasping sheets, hips moving backwards with feral aggression to meet Thanasi thrust by thrust, obscene moans interlaced with slaps of wet skins.

There are marks of fingertips on Nick’s hipbones where Thanasi clutched to pull him even closer, as if he even needs to, as if Nick is not riding his cock, sprawled lewdly on the white of the bed, his body large, his body endless, to mark, to have, to fuck, to take. Over and over again.

Jesus.

He looks so broad, so strong. Back muscles rippling to the rocking motion they do. Arms shaped, toned, as he supports himself, to bend for Thanasi, to bend more, for the taking, for the fucking. It knocks the breath off him with yearning but it stirs envious anger, too. Like maybe that act of redeeming himself from guilts was something Thanasi expects of him. Want to elicit from him. Now. When he’s sprawled on all fours, taking him deep, deeper. Pliant, submissive and his.

“Fuck, oh fuck, yeah, I missed your cock in me so much, I missed you fucking me so much,” Thanasi registers hoarse talk in between heavy moans Nick does on court, too. They sound reenacted. They sound raw. They sound somewhere in between. Even having him now like that, so intimate, clenching around Thanasi, feels like somewhere in between.

Like you never really have Nick entirely. Only in a way he allows you to.

Thanasi understands this in what he’s saying too. He doesn’t say he missed him. A friend to talk to, play tennis with, hang out with. He missed the purpose now fulfilled, the need satisfied. Thanasi is an instrument for Nick to use to his own whims.

“Your special lady doesn’t do it for you, Kygsy?” he mocks, following it up with a vicious thrust, pulling on Nick’s cock with intent, and then grabbing it in pause of pleasuring him.

What he gets in response is a beautiful whine cascading into harsh chuckle.

“No way.”

“And others?” he dares to ask, hand resuming the strokes, leaning forward, deepening the angle, as if to provoke the answer he needs to hear. The lie he’s wrapped up in through that fever they share now. And maybe always, when they are together.

“Not like you, _Kokki_ ,” the use of the nickname is on purpose, and the way Nick opens his legs even more to let him in even deeper, balls deep now, fucking him inside out, is too. There’s implication of others there that fires Thanasi up. A spark to already burning envy, embers of anger sizzling, over Nick’s body, strong body, capable body that carries shitty, ungrateful attitude.

So he speeds up. Drives into Nick with force speaking, or screaming of all of this.

_You’re mine to fuck._

_You’re mine to punish._

_You’re mine to have._

Nick sounds delirious now. Mewling obscenely, letting himself be used (a storm almost tamed, in Thanasi’s hands to mould and shape). Like a ragged doll, pliant, wet, loose. Like he’s been made for this. Or fever in Thanasi’s brain makes him cling to this delusion. That Nick is his. To keep. And no one ever has him like this. No one leaves marks on him. No one makes him sound like this.

“No one ever fucks me like this Thanasi, you’re so fucking good,” right on cue, words from his head. The mewls sound wrecked but Thanasi manages to make sense of them, as he takes Nick’s cock in an iron grip, preventing him from coming. Not until he’s spilled inside that loose, perfect heat.

Nick’s coaxing. Coaxing him into this fake belief. It’s that gravitational pull doing its thing, making him fall into the abyss of a fantasy. Thanasi doesn’t think it’s entirely conscious. Thanasi thinks this has always been Nick’s nature. There’s magnetism about him, drawing people in, willing and eager to become puppets of Nick’s whims. Grateful for scraps of attention, feeding on flashes of what ifs, barely shreds of the truth.

No one ever knows the entity of the truth of Nick Kyrgios. No one, who fell into his orbit at least once, ever stops from pursuing it anyway. 

Not even this Nick Kyrgios. Fucked loose and moaning his confessions at you.

Thanasi lets him. Because Thanasi is in that orbit now. Thinking that this time he’s going to get closer to the truth.

Maybe this time.

(How many of those they had? Like this, too?).

So he picks up the pace, pinning Nick down to the bed with the force of his thrusts, releases his grip on him, too, to have them fall into this fantasy together, with the sound of his name cried out softly like a prayer, their hands laced together like in an intimate gesture of lovers and their bodies perfectly aligned, joined in holy communion of bodily fluids and post coital shivers.

*

It’s quiet here. It’s rarely quiet with Nick. Maybe never. So, Thanasi lies to himself that it’s special and for him, as they lie in his bed, naked, bodies still cooling down. Nick on his belly, eyes closed, breathing soundly and Thanasi on his back, head turned to watch him. (To remember it? What for? It’s not his. It’s as temporary as ash falling into nothing in your hands.)

“I don’t remember you thinking so loud before. You’re not cool as this new, adult dude. You should have your brains totally fucked out. Like I do,” the silence never lasts too long with Nick. Of course it doesn’t. As it it’s forbidden. Because too sacred. Too revealing.

Nick doesn’t stay in it for too long, because Nick doesn’t stay anywhere for too long, either.

Thanasi, yet again deceives himself, that he did pin him down, with his body, for the taking. Had him. Kept him. See? He’s here. Now. Smelling of sex. Smelling of Thanasi. With trails of cum on his beautifully round ass, making Thanasi stir and wanting him to go again. And again. And again. To reclaim the illusion.

“You let your brains be fucked by that adult dude, Kygs. Maybe you do be getting older. Maybe you do be growing up,” Thanasi fakes exasperated gasp, that’s not without a pang of cruel sarcasm.

Considering what age girls he usually lets into his bed.

Who is Thanasi to judge anyway.

“I am old. I am a tennis veteran, my dude,” Nick glances with his one open eyes at Thanasi, expression soft and teasing, making Thanasi want to kiss his eyelids. Making Thanasi so very fond. To stay here. To have this for more. For longer.

Him.

“Aha, of course you are. Fucking elderly Kygs.”

They giggle for a moment, even if Thanasi’s lost in between the lines of Nick’s words. Nick’s been there forever. Left alone. For Tennis Australia to prey on him. Left alone for the expectations to be put on him and choke him. Nick’s been around forever, with Thanasi trapped in his prison of passive and impossible. And yet Nick’s been running away from owing this.

Never allowing himself to grow up. Not really.

So, is he confessing but hiding it behind meaningless jokes?

Scraps of the truth disappear before you can catch them. Like butterflies.

Thanasi turns closer towards him and starts trailing his fingertip on his back. Maybe it’s his turn to coax Nick. To pretend he can keep the storm in the bottle and observe it closely. And see what no one ever did before. Not even Thanasi. Even though he’s been there since the beginning.

“So, why it’s been so long?” he refers to before. That confession in heavy breaths they shared. Too long since I fucked your mouth. Too long since I had you as mine.

“Hmm?” the purr of confusion, with eyes closing in pleasure as he lets himself be stroked by Thanasi.

“Us,” fuck. It sounds corny. And sure enough, Nick picks it up.

“Kokki missed the best fuck in his life and he’s getting cheesy all over me now,” chuckled with a corner of his mouth lifted and eyes scrunching up in laughter.

“Of course. No one takes me as good as you do, Kygs,” Thanasi pokes his sides, making him jerk back, reminding Thanasi that somehow he knows this, and somehow it does make him superior, but Nick has tickles and he could have him cry in a giggle fit just as well as he did have him whimper in ecstasy not a few moments ago.

He doesn’t. That’s enough of a delusion for one day.

“Us , in general,” he still clarifies. Because this is also him diving into a delusion.

“You know, the end of the world, that sort of thing. Besides, what are you talking about, bro, we’ve been texting and stuff, yeah?” Nick dismisses him with words mumbled lazily, even if he does open his eyes, leaning his head on his hand to look at Thanasi.

Like that storm in the bottle leaving cracks on the glass walls. Aware of being pinned down. Trapped. And examined.

“And stuff, yep,” Thanasi hastily admits. His finger drawing patterns on Nick’s still sweaty back stops midtrack. There will be no marking him with a map guiding Thanasi home.

He almost starts to feel as if he’s waking up. Into himself. Into less of Nick’s. As the high of orgasm recedes in him, the gravitational pull seems to weaken, too.

Almost.

Because, Nick’s wearing that wicked expression, with hunger back in his eyes like flashes of gold burning there.

There’s never stillness with Nick. Never staying too long in one mood. Poignant moment forgotten, as Nick brings himself closer now, mouth red like wine and sin sharp in focus, leering like he has jaws, ready to devour Thanasi some more. His hand takes Thanasi’s hand into a hold and he does begin his feast (on body and on soul) by picking on his fingers one by one and sucking on them with unapologetic intention.

“But, as we do finally have a chance to catch up, Kokki, we really should make the best of the occasion. Don’t you think?” the mouth is sinful and insistent on his digits and Thanasi no longer freefalls outside this galaxy.

The bright star at the center of it broke the glass walls and radiates nuclear energy no one can withstand again.

“For example, we could take a shower and you could fuck me there some more.”

Thanasi’s moving, before he says yes.

*

Thanasi wakes up to an empty bed the next day.

It’s not a surprise to him.

That’s how the pattern have been working for them. That’s how it will now, too.

That’s physics of this particular galaxy.

It takes him some time to settle in within himself. Outside what they’ve been doing. What seems to be coating him like a separate layer. Of bite marks, smell, and the feel of him inside.

It always takes one some time to unwrap yourself from Nick Kyrgios effect.

To remind yourself who you are outside him.

Thanasi’s been mastering the technique, so, to some extent, it’s just like shedding skin for him.

Except, they haven’t seen each other for a while. Except, this mechanism might be a little bit rusty. Except Nick keeps on coming back to pull him back into the abyss of their fantasy for the duration of their Melbourne campaign.

It’s back to being best pals out there, in sync on court, having a laugh, sitting in each other’s boxes for the singles’ matches, keeping the banter sharp and charming during pressers.

It flows between them naturally. This is what they were first and foremost.

And then, Nick’s in his room again, and it’s that delirium again, and Nick is pliant and his and Nick stays the night, acts like nothing compares and Thanasi is the only one that can coax those sounds out of him, have his body fit so well to his own, make him moan so loud for more and see him soft and trusting afterwards, in his bed, sharing silence for a moment, like they are familiar, intimate and together.

He even comes when she travels to Melbourne for a Thiem match. Thanasi wants to say /no/. Thanasi has all the reasons laid out in his head, almost rolling off his tongue in perfect sentences to stop the domino form falling. 

But Nick drinks the words from his tongue with his own and bends so eagerly for Thanasi and whines filthy promises of dreaming to be fucked with toys by him too, so that he could be filled with Thanasi everywhere, to the brink, _yeah, yes, like that, don’t stop._

And so Thanasi doesn’t say /no/. And ignores the fact Nick rushes out after two quick fucks (it’s enough, it’s not enough, it will be, Thanasi needs to settle in and remember who he is outside this pull). And pretends he doesn’t see the stories on his Instagram afterwards oozing off apologetic exaggeration and pretended grandness of gestures.

He takes a long, long shower that day (tries to forget the images flashing beneath his eyelids from this very cabin, the way Nick’s skin shines, makes him perched for him always, the way droplets of water on his eyelashes look like tears making him soft and needy for him). Grateful that he’s coming back to Adelaide, soon.

Grateful he’s going to pick himself back up from scattered domino Nick smashed.

Until he gets a message, packing up, determined to remember himself from before.

_After lockdown we send it yep? P.S. Miss you Kokk *lopsided smile emoji*_

Nick doesn’t have to be close for the effect to take hold.

Thanasi’s response is immediate.

*

Before he leaves Melbourne, he does meet her. Briefly. On the corridor, waiting for the cards to drive them on court for the doubles match. Nick hasn’t left the lockers yet, a mess in his bag uncontained as per usual. Shoes, hoodies, headphones. He can’t find his pass. Thanasi shakes his head, with affection. It’s all so familiar. It’s all so Nick. And he knows it. He prides himself on knowing it. The fool he is. Tells him, he’ll wait by the gates.

She’s there.

Frail thing, a girl pretending to be a woman. Trying to look like a Vogue cover, coming across as any other chick does wearing tons of make-up, wanting to be glam at all cost. Nothing has changed. She barely stands out really. None of them do. None of them can.

An easy prey for that monstrous star.

Or maybe Thanasi’s jealous. Or maybe he’s guilty. Or maybe he’s both.

Their eyes meet. He doesn’t approach her. It’s temporary anyway. No reason for him to be remembering her name or her his. It will pass. They all do.

But there’s recognition in her eyes. Maybe she’s been paranoid for a while and looks for the culprit in everyone from Nick’s circle. Wouldn’t’ be the first time either. Or maybe there’s more to her plastic face than just fake lashes.

She knows.

And she doesn’t care. She pretends she doesn’t. Or she’s hooked and she’s in the orbit too. His orbit. Except no years of experience to remember how to piece yourself back together from Nick Kyrgios effect.

Thanasi could wish her best of luck.

He doesn’t.

He joins Pan on their card and they drive away.

He doesn’t spare her one more glance either.

No need.

She will pass.

They all do.

Will he too?


End file.
